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Sorry, KodakBy Jennifer M. Latzke If you're wondering how a giant of American business like Kodak could file for bankruptcy, wonder no further. I have the answer. The Latzke family went digital. Without our film and developing purchases these last 20 years it was inevitable. Poor Kodak never stood a chance. I came to this conclusion a few weeks back on a visit to see my parents. As a present to my mom and my dad I volunteered to scan and organize our family photos into their new computer. After all, who better to do this than their daughter who works with photos every week for her career? I had eight days to complete my mission. Plenty of time to go through the drawers, tubs and moldy photo albums chock-full of 45 years of collective Latzke memories in sepia, black and white and Kodachrome. Day One began innocently enough with a trip to the basement. That's when I got my first surprise. I knew my sister had taken many pictures out of our old albums to stop glue damage many years ago. I just didn't realize that Mom had an entire drawer full of random pictures, in no particular order, that she hadn't told us about. And by "no particular order" I really mean, "absolutely no organization whatsoever." That's OK, I thought to myself. It'll be great to reminisce with Mom and Dad about long-forgotten faces and treasured family memories as we identify each and every random person in this mess. It's the history I'm preserving, after all. By Day Two I realized that plan wasn't going to work. Mom had a tendency to re-edit what she wanted scanned and what she didn't want scanned according to if she knew anyone in the photo and if she looked good or not. This offended my journalistic sensibilities. In the end we compromised—I'd scan them all and she could make editorial decisions later. Finally, by Day Three I had a system in place. Pick up a pile of photos, place onto scanner and scan. Re-label the file on computer and sort into appropriate decade's folder. Sort the now scanned photos into manila envelopes labeled with each family member's name. Place labeled and filled envelopes into plastic tub for long-term storage. It was seamless. That is until around Day Four. I was starting to see family photos come to life in my dreams. About Day Five Dad started getting into the spirit of the project. I came across a stack of pictures of Angus bulls from our farm in the 1960s and I learned how the Latzkes became Angus breeders. I also learned that my devout Methodist grandfather once bought herd bulls from a lingerie salesman in Illinois. No kidding. Day Five was when I also could tell you just which branch of the family tree the person in the photo came from just by looking at their features; that none of my relatives could frame a shot without a bull, a car or a house in the background; and that a certain member of my family was an achingly adorable, blonde, pig-tailed little girl. I'm telling you, I was one cute kid. Somewhere around Days Six through Eight I realized that this project was more a present for me than it was for Mom or Dad. More than a refresher course on how I was related to every member of the Lyona Community, I heard stories that I'd never heard before and uncovered a side of my family I'd never seen. Who knew that my Grandmother Latzke was such fun as a teenager going to high school in the 1920s? Or, that my Great-Great-Grandfather Latzke was known for the quality of horses he raised? I reminded myself of faces that admittedly were starting to blur in my memory, like my Grandpa Clark's smile and the eyes my Dad and Grandfather Latzke share. Of course, it was also a hoot to traipse through decades of blurry pictures of cattle shows, nearly black pictures of school programs, and the inevitable bad hairstyles of yesterday. Eight days, though, weren't enough to scan, identify and sort lifetimes of Kodak memories. Still, I made it through nearly a thousand shots, with just one plastic tub to go. More importantly I learned more about myself and my heritage. For the first time I really understood the hardships, the triumphs and the special occasions my ancestors documented on film. And, I filed it all away so that someday I can share with the next generation as they sort through all of my digital files, shaking their heads and muttering, "Would it have killed her to have written names and dates in the file names?" Jennifer M. Latzke can be reached at 620-227-1807, or jlatzke@hpj.com.
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